


Higher Order Concerns

by idiotbrothers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comatose Sam, M/M, Mentions of alcoholism, POV Dean Winchester, Season/Series 04, Sibling Incest, Stream of Consciousness, Supernatural Reverse Big Bang Challenge 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 16:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3140717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idiotbrothers/pseuds/idiotbrothers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mere minutes after the final Seal is broken, Sam decides to sacrifice himself in order to keep Lucifer bound. Subsequently, he falls into a coma for years, and Dean waits by his side for much of that time, desperately hoping that he'll wake up. While Sam rests inert and immovable, Dean speaks more words to him daily than he ever did when Sam could respond, and grapples with feelings that he didn't realize he had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Higher Order Concerns

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for [ SPN Reversebang 2014 ](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/2014_spn_reversebang) and cross-posted to [LJ ](http://idiotbrothers.livejournal.com/756.html)and [ tumblr](http://idiotbrothers.tumblr.com/post/107491080056/spn-reversebang-2014). 
> 
> Be sure to check out the rad art by [ sammycolt24 ](http://sammycolt24.livejournal.com) at her [ art masterpost! ](http://sammycolt24.livejournal.com/9478.html) Many thanks to her for being so patient and helpful, and for giving me such an awesome idea to work with. :)

* * *

**_One month_. **

"Morning, Sam. Got you that bran shit you like, from the hippy-dippy place across the street. Don't know how you can choke it down all the time like it doesn't taste like sweetened newspaper, but here ya go." Dean set a bowl of the stuff in front of Sam, leaning his head on his elbow and watching his brother quietly for a minute before saying, "There was this guy at the market who was giving me the eye, y'know, like he was waiting to corner me out back and run me through. So I got to him first. His blood got all over the alleyway behind the store. I told him to take his pals and fuck off to Jakarta because I'm not breaking anytime soon; I can do this until my hands turn permanently red with the blood of their vessels. He didn't really say anything--kind of begged me to stop at first. It was like he didn't know who I was, but that's crazy, right? Everybody down there knows my name. Every rotten bastard that tries to nab you." 

Dean reached over to tuck Sam's bangs into place behind his ears, run a finger over his eyelids, fluttering slightly like they always did, like Sam was constantly dreaming. Dean wondered if Lucifer called to him now, if behind closed lids Sam was reaching out for the devil, or shrinking away from him. "I'll keep you safe, Sam," Dean reassured him, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead and stroking the sides of his face reverentially, thinking,  _This is my job._ He's _my job. I was born to protect him_. 

* * *

_Bobby thumbed frantically through the pages of his book, frowning at Dean's commanding tone of voice as he snapped at him to hurry it up. Sam stood by with his face creased in concentration, his arms crossed tightly and his eyes fixed on the side of Dean's face. "What," Dean barked at him, fingering the trigger of his gun as he kept his gaze pointed squarely at the locked door of the panic room, only acknowledging Sam in his periphery._

_"You know what," Sam said softly, taking a step towards him, but Dean halted him in his tracks when he said, "I'd rather fucking blow my brains out than let you do that."_

_"_ Let _me?" Sam scoffed, hands curling into loose fists. "Dean, don't you think it's about time you_ let me _off your leash? I just want to do the right thing." Dean shook his head, mouth twisted. " 'Case you hadn't noticed, Sam, the_ right thing _doesn't exactly come easy to you. Stay right the fuck over there and let Bobby dig up a spell; you're not throwing your life away on my watch." Sam rolled his eyes impatiently, stalking forward and getting in Dean's space. "Okay, look. I know you don't trust me not to screw up everything I do, but this is a cut-and-dry ritual we're talking about, right? And this is_ my _mess; I should be the one to fix it."_

_Dean shrugged a shoulder half-heartedly. "That bitch Ruby lied to both of us, man, you didn't know that killing Lilith would--"_

_"Yeah, well, it did. And if I don't act quick, I'll have let the devil loose on the entire goddamn population. So work with me here, alright?" Dean's fingers had gone painfully tight around his gun. "Sam, what if something goes wrong? Huh? What if you--" He swallowed the next word down, skin prickling, and scowled at the warmth in Sam's eyes, shook off the hand that had brushed his shoulder. "I won't," Sam said confidently, and Dean didn't feel the slightest bit reassured. But before Dean could voice any more of his very valid concerns, Sam was turning to Bobby, who had stopped speed-reading and was eyeing them questioningly._

_"We're going ahead with plan C," Sam said, and Bobby grunted, "You got it," shoving aside his book and going over to where he stocked his ritual supplies. Dean dragged a hand over his face wearily. "If this ends badly, I'm going to fucking kill you. Like, if you die, I'm gonna resurrect your stubborn ass just so I can kill you myself." Sam smiled thinly at him. "Roger that."_

* * *

**_Three years_.**

"Hey, Sam, I've decided I'm gonna stop going out. Pantry's full to bursting, so I can stay right here for however long I need to. It's too risky out there, and I redid all the wards this morning; I'm not taking any chances. It's kind of been quiet on, like, the Western front for a while, but that actually just makes me more worried. I bet those scummy fucks are cooking up some kind of master plan as we speak. I get heartburn just thinking about it. Speaking of which, I'm getting too old for this shit. I keep sprouting gray hairs, and the other day I nearly got offed because my  _knee_  gave out on me. How stupid would it be to die like that? Anyway, you don't have to worry your giant head about it, 'cause from now on, I'm planting my ass here twenty four-seven. You can keep me entertained with witty conversation. Right?" 

Dean paused, falsely glib tone melting away as he ground the heel of his hand against his eyes, frustration choking him for a good five minutes. He kept track of the minutes that passed automatically now, counting them out in time to the soft ticking of his watch-hand. It was a way to keep busy, but also kept him grounded, reminding him that he couldn't break; he'd toughed it out for this long already, so why would he be so idiotic as to render all his progress futile? 

"Sam," Dean hissed, hauling his limp body up and gingerly drawing him into an embrace, stroking at Sam's hair. It smelled like citrus, because Dean had just washed it that morning with that stupid shampoo Sam always used to buy. He didn't technically  _need_  to wash Sam's hair, because his body remained exactly the same as it was on that first day, but touching Sam worked the same way keeping time did. 

"I fucking hate you for doing this to me," Dean whispered into his ear, speaking an obvious truth for the umpteenth time since Sam had done the offending deed. "You hear me, Sam? I  _hate_  you." He caressed Sam's face as he said it, kissed his eyelids almost ritualistically, and returned him to his horizontal position on the bed. He then drank his way through two six-packs of beer and sliced his hand open on the shattered glass that had somehow ended up all over the floor, slumping against the wall with his fingers dripping and letting the fog in his head lead him into an all-too-temporary sleep. 

* * *

**_Four and a half years_.**

"Cas visited me again today. Not in here, obviously, 'cause I've got every angel-warding symbol I know carved into the walls of this shithole, but, y'know. I drove out to that hotel on Belleville, parked myself there and called until he answered. He wasn't exactly happy to see me this time, what with the whole divine war still raging up there, and all. He did say it was good to see I was 'doing well', which cracked me up and got him staring at me like I was possessed. Whatever. I think I really have been going out of my mind here, but it's not like I can be anywhere else but here. Never was any other choice. Like, I'm  _sorry_  the thing with Lisa only lasted two goddamn weeks, but I couldn't stand it. And after a while, I'm sure she wouldn't have been able to, either. 'Specially with you burning a hole in her guest bed. I can't believe you ever thought I could just hunker down and play at normal after you threw us headfirst into this mess. I don't care what Bobby or Cas or anyone else says, I'm  _blaming you_  for this, you stupid motherfucker. Saved the world, kept Lucifer out of commission, blah blah blah. Who  _cares_. We don't  _do_  this shit to each other. You got that?"

Sam's eyelashes flickered once, which Dean  decided to take for an affirmative. "Good. Dumbass. First thing I'm gonna do when you wake up is punch you in the face." Linking his fingers idly, Dean continued, "Cas says I should do my own thing from now on, just come in to check on you regularly. Like, to make sure no rogue hell-bitch gets through the wards and tears into you. 'Cause we wouldn't want that happening." 

Dean heaved a bitter sigh, fists twitching with the need to break something. He almost wished he hadn't given up hunting, the urge to kill thrumming quietly through his veins like an old friend dropping by unannounced. Not for the first time, Dean wondered what he'd be doing now if Sam was up and running, if they'd be working a case right this minute, Sam sitting stoic and broody in the passenger seat and Dean cranking the radio up to mask the seething silence between them, an invisible third party to their defunct little family of two that had started extending its unwelcome stay ever since Dean had sold his soul at the crossroads all those years ago. 

When reflecting on him and Sam, Dean didn't exactly have a crop of recent good memories to choose from. It added another layer of frustration to his current plight, because regardless of how much he wanted Sam to crack his eyelids and slide off his bed like nothing had happened, he could almost imagine the face Sam would make at being awoken, the way he would shout at Dean about responsibility and duty and the greater good.  _We'd get through it_ , Dean's flaky brain insisted,  _Just like we always do_. 

A different part of him questioned if they'd ever really gotten through any of it, but he shut that shit down immediately, because thinking like that would only get him examining his own actions in a certain unfavorable light, and then he'd feel inclined to dig into his stash of bottles for the millionth time. And he was  _trying_  to lay off on the drinking, because if (when) Sam woke up, he didn't want it to be perfectly evident how wrecked he'd gotten at his brother's side, sitting uselessly by and wasting away like he was nothing without Sam. On some level, it was almost definitely true, but at least he recognized that it wasn't something he should be advertising. 

"You know..." Dean started, picking up a different conversation thread even though he felt as if he'd done enough talking for one day, "I'm surprised Cas was cool with me backing out of the game in the first place. I would've thought he'd need me doing something down here while he played at celestial Stratego with his backstabbing pals...but it's been ages and he hasn't once asked me to make myself useful. It's weird." It wasn't that weird. Cas had always kept Sam and Dean out of his heavenly affairs, and he surely knew it wouldn't end well if he tried to separate Dean from Sam, especially considering the link that had been forged between them when Sam underwent the ritual. 

"Goddammit," Dean huffed irritably, scrubbing his fingers through his hair. "I can't believe I'm fucking lonely enough to care about what Cas and the feathered assclown brigade are up to. Jesus Christ, Sam, thanks for this." 

* * *

**_Nine years._ **

"Dean," Sam was saying, eyes bright and locked on Dean's face, the sight of that intent gaze stirring Dean's gut. "I missed you." 

Dean nodded, climbed onto Sam's bed and wound his fingers through Sam's hair instinctively, somehow expecting it when Sam leaned in to kiss him, his tongue parting Dean's lips and his hand seeking out Dean's cock. From there, it felt like mere seconds before Dean had Sam naked and spread out for him, gasping Dean's name as he touched him, opened him up with his heart pounding so wildly that he thought it would fly out of his chest because this was way too good to be--

_Fuck_. Dean cracked his eyes open and found himself staring up at the ceiling of Sam's room, a painful crick in his neck because he'd fallen asleep slumped against the wall. Clambering upright and wincing at his growing headache, he chanced a look at Sam, who was, as usual, motionless on the bed, eyes shut and lids fluttering every so often, hands clasped serenely over his torso like he was Sleeping Beauty. Apparently Dean's subconscious was fond of that association, because he was suddenly aware of how hard he was, bits and pieces of the dream he'd just had coming back to him with mortifying clarity. Sam's long fingers trailing over his skin, the sound of his moans, breathy and punched out of him, his hair tickling Dean's forehead as they explored each other's mouths. 

_Fuck_ , Dean thought again, grimacing and pointedly ignoring his erection. This wasn't the first time since Sam had gone under that Dean had dreamed about him like  _that_ , but it was the first time he remembered it so vividly. The first time his long-dormant need for Sam to wake up was clawed open so mercilessly. Dean propped himself up on his knees by Sam's bedside and watched him, close enough that his breath stirred the loose strands of hair over Sam's forehead. 

Shaking his head abruptly to snap himself out of his stupor, Dean ran a hand over his jaw and stood up to stretch his aching limbs, joints popping. He thought he'd go shave, shower, throw together some kind of breakfast that didn't involve anything canned or microwaved. He'd taken a step forward with the intention of doing any one of those things, when he heard Sam stir on the bed. Freezing where he stood, Dean turned around slowly and eyed Sam, his stare roving carefully over his body. He looked the same as he always did, as motionless as if he'd been in hypersleep this whole time. He might as well have been, anyway, because he hadn't aged at all in the past nine years and he didn't need to be fed or otherwise attended to.

_Must've imagined it_ , Dean thought to himself, annoyed for the way his heartbeat had sped up just a little. He needed to go wash the taint of that dream off his skin, and then he was making himself look presentable and having a proper meal for once. He didn't know why, but he felt like being productive today, like dragging himself out of his funk and stepping back into his old shoes, even just for a while. Before he left, he chanced one final look at Sam's face, and then nearly stumbled backwards in shock, because Sam's eyes were open. "Sam," Dean whispered, voice suddenly hoarse, and took two weak steps towards him, his heart in his throat. Sam's eyes flickered over to Dean, and he opened his mouth, seemed about to speak but nothing came out, and he blinked several times, almost mechanically, like he'd forgotten how to do it. Dean finally made it over to his side, quelling the urge to touch him. He'd gotten used to touching Sam whenever he felt like it, tracing his hands over his face and through his hair, but it wouldn't be appropriate now that he could actually sense it.

"S-Sam. Can you hear me?" Sam licked his lips, nodded once. His hands were still clasped over his torso, which made this whole thing that much more surreal. "Do you want me to sit you up?" Another nod. Dean stuck his hands under Sam's armpits and hauled him off the mattress, leaning him against the headboard and then standing back to watch him breathlessly. Shifting his feet, Dean asked, "You need water? Something to eat?" Sam shook his head, then opened his mouth again and spoke for the first time in nine years. "How long has it been?" Dean was struck with a sudden jolt of self-consciousness, aware that whereas Sam still looked not a day over twenty five, Dean was now thirty eight, and it showed on him. The fact that he hadn't shaved in three weeks didn't help. "Um. It's been, uh, nine years. Welcome to 2018."

Sam sighed, finally moving of his own accord, his left hand going up to rub at his eyes. "Why'd you wake me?" Dean raised his eyebrows, hoping the twinge of hurt he felt at the question wasn't showing on his face. "I didn't. Came close to doing it, a couple times, but just now you woke up all by your--" He cut himself off as an unpleasant thought occurred to him, bolstered by the realization that Sam didn't seem at all surprised to have been deeply asleep since early 2009. "Wait, Sam. You--Did you  _know_  this would happen?" Sam looked away, fiddling with a piece of his hair. "I had a hunch." Dean swallowed roughly, crossing his arms. "Oh, a  _hunch_. Well that's just great, isn't it. I've been caged in this fucking room for years, worrying about you, and now you're telling me you'd  _known_  this whole time that you'd conk out for practically a decade?"

Sam's eyes flashed. "You think I would've ever wanted this for you, Dean? Why didn't you leave me here and set off on your own? You've clearly safeguarded the place well enough." He indicated the visible sigils decorating the walls, expression indignant. Dean sucked in a breath. " _Because_ , asshole, there was another small, insignificant side effect to the ritual that I wasn't clued in on before it happened. Here, see for yourself." Dean swiveled on his heel and marched out the door, catching a snapshot look of surprise on Sam's face before he went. He made it all the way to the front door of the apartment and placed his hand on the doorknob before he felt it, an aching pull in his center, extending back to Sam's room. He opened the door and stepped outside, walking approximately eight paces to the right, and the sensation grew decidedly painful, like there was something gnawing away at the inside of his chest with sharp little teeth. He knew that if he went down the stairs and out into the parking lot, it would get bad enough that Sam would double over from the shock of it. Dean himself had gotten used to it, having been on enough solo hunts over the years that Sam had been bedridden to know that he could withstand it for hours at a time before being drawn back to the room. 

Still, it was far easier, for more reasons than one, to keep Sam in his sight, which was partly why he'd given up hunting and fallen into a sedentary existence. By the time Dean stomped back into Sam's room, Sam was pressing a hand to his chest and breathing heavily, bent over in his bed. "What the hell?" He gasped out, straightening when he noticed Dean. "It's some kind of soul link," Dean explained tersely. "Can't leave the final seal of the apocalypse all alone and vulnerable, right? So the spell takes hold of someone you'd trust with your life, makes them into a sort of guardian by binding the two of you together. I couldn't have left you even if I wanted to." Sam looked genuinely upset, covering his face with the palm of his hand. "I'm so sorry, Dean." Dean shrugged. "If you wanna apologize for something, apologize for deciding you'd do this at all." 

"We would've all died, Dean. Hundreds of thousands of lives taken because of me." His voice was strained, partially muffled by his hand. Dean sat down next to him on the bed, looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "I don't like to bring this up, obviously, but it was  _me_  who jump-started the apocalypse. Remember? And the angels were jerking both of us around. You don't gotta put all the blame for it on your shoulders." Sam shook his head gloomily and changed the subject, saying, "So where do we go from here?" Dean hummed contemplatively. "Now that you're up, you'll be a whole lot easier to track, so we should probably move out of here as soon as possible. I don't know about you, but I'm out of practice, and I'm not taking my chances with whatever host of demons comes slinking through here when I've got my back turned." 

Sam clenched his jaw at the thought. "Yeah. Good call." Dean clapped him on the back and stood up. "Okay, so that's a start, at least. I'm gonna go clean myself up now, 'cause you haven't said anything, but I'm sure I look like roadkill." Sam bit his lip on a smile, and Dean's stomach flipped to see it. "You look good, Dean." Dean scoffed exaggeratedly, said, "Flattery will get you nowhere," but he had to stifle a smile all the same. Before he exited the room, he stared at Sam inquisitively and asked, "What woke you up, anyway?" Sam ducked his head, and Dean saw an unmistakeable blush flood his cheeks. 

"Oh. It's nothing. I just, um. I had this dream." Dean tilted his head interestedly, quietly considering a possibility. "What kind of dream was it?"

"It's not worth talking about, really," Sam muttered, not looking at Dean. "Yeah?" Dean said, stepping right up close to Sam and putting his hands on his shoulders. Sam looked up at him skittishly, and Dean leaned down to plant a quick kiss on his mouth before he could think twice about it. 

"Good to have you back, man," Dean quipped, then speed-walked out of Sam's room and shut the door behind him, relishing the hot thrill that was pooling in his chest through the soul link, putting an obnoxious spring in his step. Whatever happened next, they'd get through it together. Just like they always did. 

* * *

  _When the searing light had faded from the room and Dean's eyes had adjusted, he saw that Sam was sprawled facedown across the floor of the panic room, unmoving but for the slight trembling of his back. "Sam!" Dean cried, crawling to him and turning him over, hissing when he laid eyes on the new mark carved into him, an inflamed spiral circling the skin around his navel. Distantly he noted that it was an unusual representation of an ouroboros._

_"Sam, hey, get up. It's over. You fucking did it, you kept Lucifer from busting out. Cas said so, said you've made things right. So come on, open your eyes. Sam?" Dean pressed his head to Sam's bare chest, felt the rise and fall of his breaths and tried to reassure himself with the sound of Sam's steady heartbeat. Dean looked to Bobby. "He's gonna be okay, right?" Bobby scratched at his cap warily, gave Dean a weighted look. "I reckon if he snaps out of it by tonight, you don't got nothing to worry about."_

_Dean set his mouth in a grim line and hefted Sam up, his shaggy-haired head lolling against Dean's shoulder. He felt a lot lighter than he should've been, which would've been cause for concern if Dean wasn't preoccupied with assuring himself that_ Everything's fine. He'll wake up when he wakes up and you'll rag on him for giving you a scare and you can put this whole stressful ordeal behind you _._

_It might have been more effective if Dean didn't feel a subtle numbness deep in his center, washing outwards and lapping at the back of his mind._


End file.
